A Place to Rest
by stale donuts
Summary: Beckett's having a bad day. Early season 4. Three shot. My first fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

**A Place to Rest**

Part 1 of 3

Kate Beckett is having a bad day, so she turns to the person she trusts most. Set early Season 4.

* * *

"And the idea was that even though all that's left was the cryogenically preserved head, that that would be all the client would need because by the time science could revive them they wouldn't _need_ their bodies!" Castle finished his story with a flourish, splashing dirty dishwater onto the counter in his enthusiasm.

He really should have waited until the after-dinner cleanup was complete before recounting his latest adventures with his mother. But he had been too excited to wait. This case was so awesome.

Martha sipped her martini and tapped her bright green nails on the tiled counter while she regarded him, not bothering to suppress a smile. "Look at you, Richard. So happy about the murders of others and not even a little bit ashamed of it."

He gave her a look. "I'm not happy they're dead, Mother. I'm just happy that they died in such a cool way. No pun intended." He smirked at his own joke, very intended. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and surveyed the clean kitchen. "All done, no thanks to you," he noted with dramatic flair.

Castle chuckled when Martha lifted the hand not balancing her precariously full martini glass in a _whatever_ wave. "Anyway, Darling, I should be going. The gals from the theater are going dancing tonight and if I leave now the party will just be getting going. Ta ta."

She stood and twirled away, tsking slightly when Castle plucked the martini glass from her hand mid-spin.

"You can't take it with you," Castle muttered, taking a sip himself. He grimaced. "This is disgusting."

"Well I didn't make it for you. Have a good night. Don't wait up!"

And she was gone.

Castle stood still in the quiet loft, contemplating. It was approaching midnight and the smart move would be to go to bed, but his mind was still busy with the details of the case. Frozen corpses! Frozen heads!

Eventually he wandered into his office and poured himself a bourbon, ostensibly to cleanse his palate, but also to help calm his mind so he might actually be able to sleep tonight. While enjoying the familiar smoky flavor he picked up his phone out of habit. He wandered back toward the living room and scrolled through his various newsfeeds.

The internet was boring. On autopilot, he scrolled through his contacts though there were few he would call so late on a Tuesday. His eye was caught by the pretty curls of his favorite detective and he paused, thumb poised over the screen. The picture made him oddly nostalgic. He'd taken it on the sly while she was laughing at Ryan the day he fell carrying a box with two dozen doughnuts. Her eyes were glittering with humor and she was holding her coffee mug in front of her wide smile as if she could hide it.

Castle sighed. He'd taken the picture six months ago. Before Montogmery. Before Beckett's shooting. It had been a happier time. They were getting back there, slowly, creeping toward normal on their elbows, but it had been a long time since he'd seen her look like this. Carefree and fearless. And happy. She wasn't happy now.

A few more swigs of bourbon and he was still staring at her picture. He wanted to call her, but the awkward truce they'd met that day on the swings outside of his book signing forced him to an unwanted separation. Oh, he saw her every day, and he tried to be there for her and be a friend, but calling her out of nowhere? Probably against the rules.

He sighed again, petulant. He set the phone down with too much force, wincing at the cracking sound it made against the coffee table. The screen had finally gone dark, so he had to swipe at it to turn on the backlight and make sure he hadn't caused any damage.

When it rang loudly in his hand Castle shrieked and jumped back against the couch, bourbon dripping down onto his hand. He quickly sucked the liquid up to keep it from spilling onto the leather before looking to see who was calling. His eyes widened, and then a grin spread slowly across his face.

"Beckett, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

There was a long pause, and a sound he couldn't quite identify, like intermittent static.

"Beckett? Kate?"

"I'm here." Her voice was quiet across the line, but Castle couldn't tell if she was speaking quietly or if it was a bad connection.

"Hey," he replied inanely. After another beat of near-silence he asked, "Got another body so soon?"

This time when she didn't answer right away he felt a tension creep up his neck and stand his hairs on end. Was something wrong?

"Kate?" He asked again. "Are you there?"

"No," came her response. There was a stutter of air and when she continued her voice sounded tight. "I mean, no there's no body."

"Okay." Castle dragged a hand down his face. He wanted to ask so many questions. Where was she? If there was no body, why was she calling? Was she okay? But their unspoken agreement to not speak things aloud caught the words in his throat.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Beckett murmured, "I shouldn't have called. It's late."

"Oh hey, no. I was up. And even if I wasn't, you can call me anytime." Castle's voice sounded too forced even to his own ears, casual cheerfulness that didn't fit the evening. When she remained silent, he couldn't stop himself anymore. "Kate, is everything okay?"

She took so long to answer that he checked to be sure the call was connected. Then finally, the words whispered over to him. "I'm. I wasn't... Castle, I just-"

Then the line did cut out. A growling sound of frustration bubbled up out of him as he stabbed impatiently at her face in his contacts. The call went straight to voicemail, and continued to do so for the next five minutes while he called her again and again and paced the loft.

Castle dragged both hands through his hair. He grabbed his keys and headed halfway to the door before stopping, turning back. She was fine. She had to be fine, and if she was fine, and _she was_ , she wouldn't want him charging after her in the middle of the night.

That was probably against the rules. It was probably just static, a dropped call. She wouldn't want his help.

He stood frozen in the center of the quiet loft and wished that Alexis was there to guide him through the pros and cons of it all. But she was at a friend's place for the evening and it was up to him to be the grownup. And you know what? _Beckett_ called _him_ , so he should be within the rules to go check on her.

Mind made up, Castle turned and strode out of the loft without even stopping to put on his coat.

* * *

Beckett glared at her phone and swiped angrily at her cheeks. Seriously? Of course her phone would die right now. She stared at it and took a deep breath and held it, attempting to stop the stuttering and hiccupping that she hadn't been able to keep from her voice while she was talking to Castle.

It didn't work, though, and she buried her face in her free hand while she gasped in another breath. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to remember what she'd learned in therapy about stopping panic attacks before they started, about dealing with stress, and compartmentalizing when she had to.

She was so focused on her self-meditation that the soft ding of the elevator arriving at its destination startled her, a quick surge of adrenaline undoing whatever small calm she'd been trying to find. But it was nothing like the shock she got when the doors opened to reveal an agitated Richard Castle on the other side.

Beckett's eyes widened in surprise, both at his presence and at the completeness of his agitation; the wild hair and flushed cheeks, the tense line of his jaw that relaxed and dropped a little when he saw her.

"Beckett! Are you okay?" She watched as he combed a hand through his hair, succeeding only in making more of it stand on end, before he reached out to stop the doors from closing between them.

"I'm…" Saying she was okay would be a blatant lie. Even if she thought she could get away with it, and she knew her appearance would betray her, she didn't want to lie to him. Again. She swallowed noisily and wiped at her face again, wondering how bad she looked. Without making eye contact, she muttered, "I was going to ask if I could come over."

Though still obviously concerned, Castle cocked his head slightly and the tiniest smile played at his mouth. "You don't ever need to ask," he replied warmly.

"I don't like to intrude." Staring at the ground now, Beckett sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. It was then that Castle took in her appearance aside from the obvious watery sheen in her eyes. Her hair was wild and kinked, her raw-looking face free of makeup, and she was wearing leggings and a sweatshirt at least three sizes too big.

She looked adorably young and painfully vulnerable, and the part of him that loved her clenched in response to the injustice of it all. Carefully, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, tugging lightly until she stepped all of the way off of the elevator so he could let the doors close behind her.

"Well," Castle offered with a slight smile, his eyes still assessing, "since you're here, would you like to come in for a drink? And," he added as if it were an afterthought, "you can tell me why you called tonight."

He let his hand drop from her shoulder when she started stiltedly down the hallway, where he stepped back inside the loft and pulled the door wide open behind him in invitation. Once she began to follow, however tentatively, he felt a small thrill of victory. If her silence and her hesitation were any indication, Beckett hadn't quite convinced herself to come over when she'd called him. In a way, the dropped call might have been his best friend tonight, getting him out of the loft to meet her before she convinced herself this was a bad idea.

Once inside, Castle headed back to the kitchen and began babbling immediately. "Do you want coffee? Or I was having a bourbon if you'd rather have a real drink. We've got everything. Vodka, tequila, gin, wine-"

"No," Beckett interrupted him softly, the tense scratch of her voice making him wince. "No, I'm okay."

When Castle turned back to her she'd made it all the way over to the barstools across the counter from him, still hugging herself and looking lost and sad. "Kate," Castle said softly. "What's wrong?"

"No, I'm okay." But her voice was an octave too high, her chin was trembling, and her lips were pulled back in an expression of grief. "I'm okay," she insisted again when Castle came around the counter to squeeze her shoulder again.

"Kate," he repeated, "talk to me."

She inhaled deeply and looked away, a quiet cry escaping when she was forced to exhale. Castle rubbed his palm over her shoulder bravely, but she jumped in response and he dropped his hand again. Then to his eternal amazement, Beckett finally met his gaze and launched herself into his arms.

Castle let out a small _oomph_ at the impact of her chest against his and held his hands away from her for a beat, so used to holding himself back from her. But when Beckett wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and began to cry in earnest into his tee shirt, he came to his senses and pulled her tightly against him.

"I don't want to talk," she managed between gasping sobs. "Can we not talk right now?"

"Of course," he murmured into her hair, rubbing her back in small circles. When it became clear that this wasn't going to be a short cry, Castle moved her slowly over to the couch and sat them both down. Trying not to jostle her shaking shoulders he reached over and plucked a few tissues from the box on the nearest table and offered them to her silently.

Beckett took them, but after briefly trying in vain to stem the tide of her tears she only clutched them in her tightly fisted hands. Castle felt tears sting at the back of his eyes while he held her trembling form against him. This was unprecedented. He'd only seen her cry like this once, in the dark night outside of a hangar where Montgomery was dying.

Still trying to figure out what she needed from him, Castle's eyes widened when Beckett took his hand and glanced at his face, brushing two fingers across his cheek. Then she leaned over on her side, pulling him with her until they were spooning on his leather couch. Castle held himself away from her stiffly, uncertain where the line was between them, until she tugged on his hand and wrapped his arm around her.

"Are you comfortable?" Beckett whispered after her tears finally began to subside.

"Yeah," he whispered back, squeezing his hand where their fingers were tangled together.

They lay quietly that way for a long time as Beckett's breathing calmed to normal and then even slower and deeper. Tugging her close to him and settling back into the cushions Castle nudged his nose against her ear and whispered, "You falling asleep?"

"Mmhmm," Beckett mumbled. She shifted heavily against him, her fingers wrapping around his forearm. "Is this okay? I'm so tired."

"Yeah, Kate. This is okay. You're going to be okay."

* * *

 **A/N** : This is my first ever fanfic. I started this after the news broke about Stana (but before cancellation) because I imagined a meta-world where Kate Beckett needed a hug after getting the news. It grew into this. Part 2 should be out Wednesday. Any response would be lovely!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** A day late beyond my Wednesday deadline, but hopefully not a dollar short! I wasn't expecting much of a reaction to this, so I'm a little blown away by the reviews/favs/follows. Especially THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, you're very kind. Too much so, really. Except the one that said I was lying. O.o

* * *

Castle lay awake in the softly lit living room of his loft, the light from the kitchen providing enough to see by and the woman he loved in his arms. She was sleeping, thankfully, but he was far from it. His mind was leapfrogging from one thought to the next, swaying between emotions and keeping him completely awake. He was physically uncomfortable, afraid to relax into a sleepy bliss because if he did there was no way he wouldn't hold her too tightly or snuggle too much into the soft waves of her untamed hair.

How much was too much, anyway? Could there be any boundaries between them when she cried herself to sleep in his arms? It killed him that something had been so wrong and he hadn't been there to stop it before it consumed her, but he couldn't deny the little thrill when he thought about the fact that she'd come to him in a moment of extreme weakness. It was confusing, both her sudden expression of need for him and his own emotional dichotomy.

He sighed and shifted, wincing and going still when the leather creaked below him. His arm was still wrapped around her, tense with the struggle of wanting to crush her to him and the need to respect her privacy, her need for space. Unless she didn't still need it. Beckett had thrown herself into his arms, but what if it was an anomaly, a case of his port being good enough for this storm?

A visceral shudder ran through him at the thought and he gave in to his baser desire to pull her to him, possessive against whatever space she might choose to put between them when she wakes. Beckett hiccupped in her sleep at the sudden motion and sniffed, stretching her legs and back fully until she relaxed and wriggled back against him, seeking warmth and comfort in the shallow depths of her sleep. Castle stayed frozen until she quieted again. His heart had quickened noticeably at the movement, though he wasn't sure if it was fear that he'd woken her or the simple excitement of her moving against him.

Unwise a choice though it might be, Castle ran his hand from her shoulder to her hip. A soothing gesture for both of them, he could feel Beckett relax and fall deeper into sleep and his own heart rate slow back to normal. He found himself assessing her, and was mildly horrified to find he hadn't been aware of how far she remained from her usual self. He'd known, of course, that she'd been hurt. That her recovery had been long and painful. The knowledge had been quite painful itself. But somehow he'd convinced himself that what remained of that recovery was mostly emotional, and that she was physically back to normal.

But the sharp protuberance of her hip beneath his palm and the sharply flared wings of her shoulder blades poking uncomfortably into his chest sufficiently described her underweight status. She'd been so much stronger less than a year ago, when they'd huddled together in a locked freezer. Morose, Castle ran his hand down her side again and tried to think about other things. He wondered if he'd be able to give in if the lights weren't off, if under the cover of darkness he'd be able to acknowledge his own pain and his own need for comfort. He closed his eyes and wrapped her up against him again. It turned out to be the simplest of fixes, and within moments he could feel himself actually drifting off with her, imagining that they were happily curled up on a softly rocking boat away from all the world and buoyed against the things in life that sought to sink them.

* * *

Martha was still humming the last song she'd danced to before the party had broken up when she sashayed into the loft. She did a little jig while she set her keys down on the doorside table and spun theatrically as she moved into the living space, playing it up to an audience that wasn't there. Then her eyes fell to the distinctively Katherine Beckett mass of hair her son seemed to have tucked beneath his chin where he slept on their couch.

Martha paused mid-step, arms raised and fingers poised to snap to the music she was dancing to, and her smile widened. _Finally_. Then her eyes began to adjust to the low, warm light and her smile fell a little. She _tsked_ to herself at the obviously underfed shape of the detective whose body was almost hidden by just Richard's arm wrapped around her. When she caught sight of the small pile of crumpled up tissues collected on the coffee table Martha frowned and her arms finally lowered.

The fun seeped out of her quickly and she finally felt the late hour and the too many dances. Martha sighed quietly and felt her shoulders sag. This had obviously not been the happy evening the couple deserved. Her only thought was to hope that nothing new and tragic had happened and that the poor girl had simply tired of pretending that everything was alright.

Lips pursed, Martha removed her shoes and stepped lightly over to the sleeping pair. With a taught feeling of maternal unhappiness building in her chest, she pulled a light blanket off a side chair and draped it carefully over them. Her son, bless him, remained fully asleep but Katherine stirred and shifted. Martha held her breath and squeezed the girl's shoulder to quiet her.

"S'morning?" the detective slurred out, one eye cracking open.

"No," Martha replied, squeezing her shoulder again. "You go back to sleep."

"Oh," she sighed. To the older woman's surprise, Katherine reached out from the covers and wrapped her slender fingers around Martha's wrist in a quick touch of appreciation. "S'nice," she muttered, eyes falling closed. "Thanks."

"You're always welcome, darling. Go to sleep."

Then she moved quietly up the stairs to her own room, shutting off the lights as she went.

* * *

Beckett woke to a black pre-dawn darkness and the warm and welcome weight of Castle behind her, wrapped around her. Her eyes scraped open and she fumbled around for her phone, doing her best not to wake the sleeping man behind her. Where was it? Her mind felt thick and muddled, like her sore throat the after effects of a too-hard cry. Or, she supposed, the after effects of waiting too long to cry. Either way, she felt a singular and slightly irrational need for her phone.

She slipped reluctantly from under Castle's arm, pausing to take in the sight of him calm in sleep. The tiniest of smiles emerged from her frown and she felt an overwhelming affection slide through her, followed quickly by its usual nemeses, concern and worry. Denying the urge to touch him, she turned away and began to look for her phone in earnest. She finally found it under the couch and hissed when it wouldn't turn on. How could she have forgotten it was dead? Did she have a charger with her? She scuttled over to where her keys had been left the night before and remembered that she hadn't bothered to bring her bag with her when she'd fled her home in favor of Castle's.

"Beckett?" Castle's heavy sleep-laden voice broke the silence and Beckett turned back to see him sitting up and rubbing his eyes, looking with detached confusion at the blanket he found himself under. "I dreamt you were made of rice crispy treats."

Beckett blinked slowly. "Um, so I was delicious?" she asked with a shy grin, a touch of their usual feel in the question.

But Castle shook his head. "No, you made a terrible dry crinkling sound when you broke." Beckett blanched and he shook his head so that his hair flopped adorably over his eyes and muttered, "Sorry." Then he turned his gaze back to Beckett and took in the phone in her hand and her proximity to her keys. His eyes closed as if to shut out the sight. "You leaving?"

Beckett supposed this was her chance to escape, and felt a great relief to discover that she didn't want to. "No," she croaked. She cleared her throat. "I wanted to charge my phone."

Castle's eyes opened again. "Oh." He rubbed a hand through his hair and down over his face, then he stood. "There are extras in the office."

They were silent until he'd taken the phone from her hand and plugged it in at his desk. The small task finished, Castle shifted his weight and took a deep breath. Nervous tells, both. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," Beckett responded, eyes falling to look around his desk instead of at him. After a moment she found the courage to look back up and found him much closer than she'd realized. A glance at the concerned shade in his eyes and she felt the honest truth bubbling up inside. "Well," she amended, hugging herself lightly and an embarrassed heat in her cheeks, "I will be. I… um. You helped a lot."

It was such a simple phrase but she could see the effect it had on him, pride replacing some of the intensity in his posture. "A lot," she reiterated, shrugging one shoulder as if to apologize for her lack of articulation.

"Good," Castle decided. He stepped carefully into her personal space and when she didn't protest he drew her to him in a warm hug. Playing dangerously with their restrictive boundaries he pushed some of the wild hair away from her forehead and pressed his lips there in a soft but sure kiss. Beckett startled but didn't pull away. Instead, one of her hands slipped up to rest at his collar bone, the tips of her fingers just brushing over his lowered chin.

Eventually, Castle broke their embrace. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Beckett shook her head and looked away. "No."

Castle's features clouded slightly and she shook her head again, denying his frustration and caressing the edge of his jaw with the fingers still resting there. "Not yet. But Castle, you're the one that I'll want to talk to," she offered quietly.

It was enough, for now. Another too-nebulous promise of their future, but it was enough. Castle nodded his understanding and caught the hand at his face in his own, interlocking their fingers. "Come on, let's go back to sleep."

He started to walk them into his bedroom, but Beckett balked with wide eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Bedroom," Castle said, pointing redundantly.

"No."

"No?"

Beckett shook her head and fruitlessly tried to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I don't want... um. Not tonight?" she decided, the question in her voice asking him if it was enough of an answer.

Again, it was just enough. A vague promise of not this time, but sometime. "Okay," Castle replied slowly, fatigue evident in his heavy voice and movements. "So, couch?"

Beckett nodded and he led her back out of the office. It was more awkward this time, settling into each other's arms without the unhappy screen of heightened emotions. After Castle tucked her against him and pulled the blanket back over them, they lay in heightened silence for long minutes.

Finally, Beckett whispered, "You're awake?"

"Yeah."

She turned her upper body at the expected answer so that she was on her back. They were suddenly almost nose to nose and Castle hastily raised up on one elbow to put a little distance between them. Becket smiled thinly, but her gaze was serious.

"Thank you," she murmured, a brief gift of her eyes gazing into his before they flicked away.

"Kate," Castle admonished, "you don't owe me any thanks. Really."

She looked so miserable that he couldn't help but echo his earlier movements, drawing his hand from her shoulder down to her hip and squeezing in solidarity. The movement was made infinitely more intimate, though, by her wakefulness and the way she was canted toward him so that his thumb had come to rest at her lower abdomen. Castle was suddenly very aware of their position, their points of contact, and the low simmer of their attraction beginning to boil.

Beckett met his gaze kindly, still too thankful for his taste, and captured his hand to tangle their fingers and move him away from dangerous territory. "You're such a kind man, Castle."

The sentiment might have made him happy in a different situation, but he could hear only regret in her voice. "You sound sad."

"I'm sorry."

"No," he murmured, tightening his grip on her fingers, "don't be sorry for how you feel."

"It's not that, exactly," Beckett whispered, her voice dropping to a nearly inaudible level. "I'm being selfish."

Castle frowned, couldn't stop the reflexive, "What?" from popping out of his mouth too loudly. He lowered his voice. "No you're not."

"I am," she insisted. "I'm taking something I'm not ready to give back."

They lay in a silence broken only by their quiet breathing until Castle offered, "Yet."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"You don't think you're ready to give it back _yet_."

"Oh," she stuttered, swallowing jerkily and meeting his very serious gaze. "Right."

"What are you waiting for?" Castle asked, wondering even as the words left him if they were too much, if she'd run away from having to dig too deeply into the answers. But he was surprised by her again when she responded immediately, earnestly.

"To be good enough for you."

Oh, Kate. The affection that sometimes overwhelmed him mingled with a fierce need to protect her from her own demons and he shook his head sharply. "You are good enough for me."

Beckett shook her own head, a quick denial. "I'm broken."

The honesty was too much, her voice breaking even on the short phrase. In the sudden blanch of her pallor and sheen in her eyes Castle could see that they were getting to the heart of what had sent her flying to him in tears this evening, though he thought it best not to poke too sharply at the exposed wound.

"You're getting better," he murmured instead. "You're doing exactly what you need to do to get better. You're not as broken as you once were even a short time ago. And," he continued, warming to his subject, "I'm so glad you came here tonight. All I want is to help, however I can, whenever you'll let me."

"Castle," Beckett murmured, but found she didn't have any words to express the intensity of emotion he was building inside of her.

"And Kate, you don't have to strive for perfection so we can be together. I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not perfect either," he gave her a grin and lifted one eyebrow until she shook her head and laughed softly, the tight grasp of her unhappiness slipping a little. Good. He continued to smile but let his tone wander back toward seriousness. "You and I have never been perfect, but we've always been perfect together."

Beckett blew out a breath as if she was going to debate the last point, but instead she just grinned, her acknowledgement of the winning accuracy of his argument in the lift of her lips and the quick flash of her teeth. Still grinning quietly, she untangled their fingers so she could brush his forelock away from his face and trace the line of his cheekbone with the soft pads of her fingers.

Then she stretched up and closed the distance between them, kissing him fully on the lips. Surprise and thrill and good intentions warred in Castle for the briefest of moments, then, God help him, he slid his hand into her hair and kissed her back.

* * *

 **A/N** : In all seriousness, thank you all for reading and I'd love to hear what you think. One more part to go. I've got a very busy week, but the next chapter should be up in the next couple of days, Monday at the absolute latest.


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